Forward

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The Dothraki sea unfolded like an uncharted ocean of undulating grass, uninterrupted by roads, hills, or cities, with the exception of Vaes Dothrak and the olden Valyrian roads near the Forest of Qohor to the west.

Over a hundred varieties of grass carpeted the plains, flourishing in dense clusters that rose taller than a man's head. From a distance, this veritable sea of grass undulated like waves in the wind. Amidst this sea, untamed packs of wild dogs, jackals, herds of free-ranging horses, and the elusive hrakkar(1) roamed.

A singular colossal landmark, the Mother of Mountains, majestically rose at the heart of the Dothraki sea, presiding over Vaes Dothrak. Adjacent to this monumental peak lay the Womb of the World, a tranquil lake harmonizing with the rhythmic pulse of the nomadic life that thrived within this sprawling, grassy realm.

Geographically situated in the heart of Essos, east of the Free Cities, the Dothraki sea extended from the Forest of Qohor in the west to the Bone Mountains and the Krazaaj Zasqa in the east, reaching southeast into the desolate red waste. To the south, its boundaries were defined by the Painted Mountains, Slaver's Bay, and the Skahazadhan, while the river separated it from Lhazar to the south, a frequent target of Dothraki raids. The sheer vastness of the Dothraki sea accommodated more than two dozen khalasars, each embarking on its unique circuit, sustaining itself by extracting what the land generously offered.

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Indeed, a medium-sized khalasar advanced gracefully through the expansive grasslands, their horses' hooves creating a rhythmic symphony as they traversed the verdant sea. The nomadic procession, adorned in vibrant fabrics and leather, moved with purpose, the wind carrying the echoes of their tribal songs. The sun cast long shadows of riders and horses, creating a transient mural on the undulating canvas of the Dothraki sea.

At the forefront of the khalasar, a man and a woman commanded attention as they led the caravan through the undulating grasslands. The woman, with platinum hair cascading down her shoulders, rode with an ethereal grace. Her violet eyes, however, seemed unfocused, as if caught in the currents of distant memories or contemplating the uncertain path that lay ahead. 

Nearby, Jorah Mormont stood by her side, attempting to draw her attention away from her reverie with little success. In the weeks that followed the unsettling news they had received, Daenerys frequently found herself lost in contemplation, moving without a clear sense of purpose. It seemed as though the very foundations of her beliefs had been shaken, casting a shadow of uncertainty over her and affecting even the seasoned knight at her side.

"My queen..." Jorah whispered softly, but his call was either unheard or outright ignored as Daenerys didn't spare him a glance.

And Jorah understood, truly he did. How it felt to lose a pillar on which you didn't even know you were relying on. The Iron Throne was more than a simple chair. It was the symbol of hundreds of years of Targaryen Rule, and she had lived her whole life, ever fantasying about claiming it as her own, returning her dynasty to it's former glory...and now it was morphed in the visage of the very man who had betrayed her father in the first place...it was a tough pill to swallow, to say the least.

And Jorah understood...like he always did, but as he watched Daenerys continuing to stare into the distance, her gaze fixated on nothing in particular, lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts...Jorah realized that he was growing tired of this bullshit...

He urged his horse to trot closer to Daenerys, his voice rising in volume as he attempted to jolt her back from the depths of her reverie.

"My queen!" He all but shouted, and from the sudden twitch of the young woman, he knew that he had made himself heard.

Daenerys threw a sideways glance at him, her brows furrowing from the rude awakening. "What ails you, Ser Jorah?" she asked. (T.N- The fuck do you want?)

With a softened gaze, Jorah inquired, "Pray, my queen, what plans occupied your contemplation?" (T.N- What the hell are you thinking about?)

Daenerys's gaze abruptly locked with Jorah's, a sudden and intense shift that seemed to freeze the very air. In that moment, Jorah saw the flames of anger and hatred blazing within her violet eyes, mirroring the fire of her dragons that circled the convoy.The small dragons, sensing the shift in their mother's emotions, abandoned their playful flight and with a synchronized dance through the air, swiftly returned to her side.

Daenerys, after taking a deep breath to compose herself, began to pet her small dragons gently, calming both herself and the fiery emotions that had flared within her moments ago. Shifting her gaze back to the surroundings, she surveyed the vast Dothraki sea with a renewed focus.

"I'll kill him," she declared with a chilling, unforgiving voice, leaving no room for arguments. Jorah remained silent, his gaze fixed on the determined queen.

As she continued to speak, her tone grew louder, stronger, seemingly resonating with power. "I'll kill him for the transgression against my father's throne, against our dynasty, against me. I'll kill him for the sins of his father, and to make an example out of him for those who would think opposing me. Then I'll take that damned statue, melt it down, and reshape it into its rightful state. 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗲, and I'll sit upon it, even if it's the very last thing I do." Her words carried a weight of determination and a vision of reclaiming her birthright that echoed across the vast, open plains of the Dothraki sea.

Jorah gazed at the expressionless face that Daenerys now wore, not bothering to hide the worry in his eyes. This ruthless and bloodthirsty demeanor was not the norm for his queen, and he hoped time would heal the heartache she bore for various reasons. As for the news he sometimes received from Varys, he prayed the unearthly feats the King displayed were more due to trickery and deceit rather than otherworldly power. If not...going against such an opponent would surely be an uphill battle...

With a slight cough into his hand, Jorah addressed Daenerys once again, his demeanor unchanged by her outburst. "I understand, my queen. It shall be done...But may I ask if that's the reason we are heading towards Slaver's Bay? To acquire ships for our journey to Westeros?"

At that, Daenerys's expressionless mask cracked ever so slightly, a small smirk appearing on her face. "Among other things," she replied mysteriously as they continued to ride through the empty grasslands, leaving an air of intrigue hanging over their journey...

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All the while, the red star in the sky seemed to only shine more brightly, casting an eerie glow over the vast plains as the khalasar moved steadily towards its uncertain destiny.

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A.N - 

"*Breathes in*

*Breathes out*

'What is that thing Grim's always saying?'

*Breathes in*

*Breathes out*

'Go further beyond.

*Breathes in*

*Breathes out*

'Push yourself to the edge'

*Breathes in*

*Breathes out*

'And once you're there.

..'

*Breathes in*

*Breathes out*

'SURPASS YOUR LIMIT!'"

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1-Hrakkar are a breed of white lion native to the Dothraki sea.[